


the sun will warm our hearts and souls

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [18]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Frodo is a baby, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sweetness, Wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "take my caged heart back".</p>
<p>The Shire is warm, warmer than Erebor, and Thorin can only hope that the magic of the Shire will have its way with Bilbo. After the kidnapping, he needs to heal. And so does Thorin.</p>
<p>With kin beside them, perhaps they can.</p>
<p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sun will warm our hearts and souls

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Hols, all. I thought y'all might enjoy seeing the next fic for this verse. The one following after this is not complete, but does incorporate several prompts. And the one after THAT is finished. But I'm not posting out of order.
> 
> Y'all asked for Bilbo and Thorin going to the Shire to heal after the kidnapping. I hope this meets your expectations, wants, and wishes.

“Thorin!”

A dark haired head rose from its resting place. “Have you seen-“

“I haven’t any idea where Bilbo is.”

Primula paused mid breath to speak again, so startling were the words. “You…don’t?”

There was definitely an air of amusement now. “Should I?”

“Thorin, you’ve not been parted from him since you both arrived. You’ve made a point of being everywhere he is, if just a step behind him. So forgive me if I find that his absence from your side is _odd_.” Despite the words, her tone was soft, if but a little confused.

The breeze blew in through one of the open windows, and it felt cold – a hint of the autumn air that was swiftly turning to winter. It wouldn’t be much of a winter, it never was in the Shire, but there would be a frost. Perfect for ripening certain fruits and rooting out the thickest of weeds.

“If there is one thing my husband is, it is independent,” Thorin said from his spot in the den. He had one of the histories in his hands, and she idly wondered which volume he’d picked up. “I want him to remember that.”

“He’s all right, then,” she said, and Thorin smiled.

“He seemed to be in high spirits when he left with Elodie for Sparrowlings.”

So he’d even left Hobbiton, then. Not very much, just out to the fields, but he wasn’t in Bag-End, and he wasn’t in the town. “Good,” she said decisively. “Elodie’s good for him.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And Frodo’s good on you.”

Thorin chuckled and finally glanced down at the sleeping babe tucked in the crook of his arm. “I can take him,” Primula said with a smile. “Your arm must be getting tired by this point: you’ve had him since second breakfast.”

“He’s fine, I promise. Besides, he’s a bit…attached. At the moment.”

With a frown Primula came around to the front of the chair Thorin was seated in. In an instant the problem was obvious: somehow, Frodo still had a firm grip on Thorin’s beard, despite being fast asleep. Thorin gave her a resigned sort of grin, but she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the slightest bit of resigned. He was loving every minute of it, no matter how crinkled or twisted his beard would be later.

“Well, when you’re tired of him, just give him back,” Primula said. “Until then, I think I’ll see about something for supper. Any preference?”

“Potato soup,” Thorin said without pause. Bilbo’s favorite. It seemed as if Thorin didn’t need to be tied to Bilbo’s side in order to watch out for him.

“I’ll make some hard biscuits to go with it,” she said, the kind Thorin favored, and she was rewarded with the smile she was certain Bilbo had fallen for all those years ago. It made him look decades younger than he was.

Seemed the Shire wasn’t just good for Bilbo. And that was a good thing.

 

They’d arrived on a stormy autumn day, drenched and chilled by the fierce gale in moments. It had only been by pure memory that Bilbo had managed to stumble through the blinding rain to Bag-End, and between Bofur and Thorin they’d managed to get the cart up towards the door. Primula and Drogo had been waiting, little Elodie between them, and a babe on Primula’s hip that she’d immediately handed to Drogo in order to get Esmeralda, Merry, and Bilbo inside.

It had been a swift journey to the Shire, though not quick enough for any of them. Bofur and Esmeralda had been anxious to be there, after having delayed in order to take Bilbo and Thorin with them. Bilbo had been desperate to get off of the cart, where he’d been confined as his injuries had continued to heal, and Thorin?

Thorin had been pleading to every one of the Valar that the Shire would help, that the Shire would heal the deep wounds that Caledon, Arius, and Donys had ripped through his husband’s soul.

The next day, they’d awakened inside Bag-End to the sound of birds chirping outside, the storm having moved past. The day had dawned sunny, and there’d been fresh eggs and meat for breakfast, complete with tea and fruit.

Every day after that had been much the same. And slowly, the peace and calm of the Shire had begun to work its magic.

 

“That one looks like a puppy.”

“What about that one? That’s a bird if ever I saw one. It looks a bit like an eagle, actually.”

“I think it looks like a puppy with wings.”

Bilbo side-eyed the young hobbit lying beside him in the grass. Primula and Drogo were going to want to know about this puppy business: it was the fifth cloud that Elodie had declared looked like a small dog of some sort. “I’d be fairly frightened of a dog with wings,” Bilbo said, and he poked her in the side. Elodie giggled and squirmed, then settled back to continue cloud-gazing.

The sky was a perfect blue, with white wispy clouds floating by at a slow pace. If the day was a cooler one by Shire standards, one wouldn’t know it by the looks of the sky. Most of the hobbits they’d passed in town had been wearing shawls and longer sleeved clothing, the first crisp bites of winter peeking around the corner.

Having lived in Erebor for the past twelve years, Bilbo felt quite comfortable indeed and not the slightest bit cold.

“What about that one?” Bilbo asked, pointing to a random cloud. He thought it looked like a teacup, but he knew exactly what Elodie’s answer would be.

“Puppy,” she said, right on schedule. “A little brown fluffy puppy.”

Oh, _details_ even. Yes, Prim and Drogo were going to need to know. “You might be a bit young for a puppy, Ellie,” Bilbo said gently. He didn’t want to burst the sweet bubble she had contrived, but Prim had her hands full with Elodie and Frodo now. It wasn’t the cost so much as it was the _time_. Bilbo knew: he’d had a few pets through the years.

“I’m eleven,” she said firmly. “One-third of the way to being of age, don’t you know, so I could have a puppy if I wanted. Mama’s already been talking about my getting my own room, so why shouldn’t I have my own puppy? I think it’s a _grand_ idea.”

She was full of her mother’s spunky attitude, that much was for certain. Drogo was in her hair and her smile, that quirky Baggins grin that Bilbo saw in his own mirror every now and then. His wasn’t quite as broad as hers was. Not these days, at any rate. Getting there, though.

“It is quite the grand idea,” Bilbo agreed. “Your mother may have things to say about it though.”

“You’ll help, though, right Uncle Bilbo?” she asked, and when he turned to look, there were the large, pleading eyes and the little pout resting on her lips.

“Oh you _miscreant_ ,” and he started tickling her in retribution. Elodie squealed and laughed, trying desperately to get away. Bilbo heard someone else laughing, and only after he’d released her did he realize it was him. Laughing.

It felt good.

Elodie laid her head on his shoulder and gave a happy sigh. “I’m glad you’re here, Uncle Bilbo,” she said.

Bilbo gazed at her fondly and ran his hand over her curls. “I am too, dear heart. I am too.”

“Does that mean you’ll talk to Mama about my puppy?”

“I will do absolutely _nothing_ of the sort. You are completely on your own.”

 

The weeks had passed slowly, yet so much happened, too.

Bofur and Esmeralda had left Bag-End and continued on, to the joyous welcome of her family and Saradoc’s. Merry was cooed over by any and all who saw him, and when comments were made about how much like Saradoc he looked, Esmeralda had almost wept for joy. To see Merry so welcomed, to have him loved so very much…

It was the most she could have asked for. It was the most any of them could have asked for.

Bofur had been warmly welcomed, most everyone remembering him from two years before. When the Tooks and the Brandybucks had been notified of Bofur’s intentions towards Esmeralda, they had been cautious, but mostly welcoming. All had demanded that Bofur be given a home in the Shire, one that was _not_ Esmeralda’s. Bofur had insisted that Esmeralda have a choice in which home, however, determined to have it ready for her when the time came.

Needless to say, it won over both families in an extraordinary manner.

For the time being, Esmeralda was with her family, and Bofur was working on the smial he’d found for her. He’d named it, but refused to tell anyone what it was. When he wasn’t working on it, he was down in Bag-End with Thorin, Bilbo, Primula, and Drogo. And, inevitably, Esmeralda and Merry, who’d toddle off to play with Elodie while Frodo watched from someone’s careful arms.

And if Thorin sometimes went off with Bofur to help with the smial and insisted Bilbo come with him, to “help with decisions to better prepare it for a hobbit,” well, no one said anything. Bilbo went, and happily, and Thorin’s shoulders were always a few inches lower without the tension of Bilbo out of his sight.

 

“Elodie wants a puppy,” Bilbo began, stepping into Bag-End, then stopped when Prim quickly held up her hand to shush him. She had a sappy smile on her face, the daffy kind that meant one of her children was doing something adorable, and he highly doubted it was because of Elodie’s puppy request. Besides, her eyes weren’t even anywhere close to the door: they were locked on something in the den. Drogo stood beside her, eyes crinkling in the corners with how wide he was smiling.

Curious, Bilbo quietly stepped inside and glanced around the corner. Then he was grinning from ear to ear, completely helpless to stop it.

Thorin was in the big soft chair, a book resting in his lap. His head was leaning against the side of the chair, and he was completely asleep, not even so much as twitching.

And in his arms, still curled to carefully keep him from falling, was Frodo, wrapped in his little blanket. The baby was also fast asleep, not stirring or making a sound. His little hand was extended from his cocoon, as if it had fallen from wherever he’d placed it. Thorin’s beard, no doubt: the little one had a fascination with it that no one quite understood.

“They’ve been like this for awhile now,” Drogo whispered. “Haven’t had the heart to part them.”

No, and Bilbo was glad Drogo hadn’t. It was the both parts precious and heart-breaking all at the same time. Thorin, fast asleep with a babe in his arms. It left him smiling even while his heart twisted just a little in his chest.

Echoes from the past came to him: his wedding night, part of it spent curled up on Bag-End’s floor, soaked and miserable. Knowing he could never give Thorin what every dwarf wanted. Thorin had pushed past his fears and left Bilbo completely convinced that it didn’t matter, that Thorin wanted Bilbo more than he wanted heirs and children. There was no doubt in Bilbo’s mind that Thorin still held true to that. There were here in the Shire, after all, and Bilbo knew exactly _why_ Thorin had suddenly wanted to accompany Bofur and Esmeralda. It had nothing to do with “a need for their safety” and everything to do with Bilbo’s kidnapping. Bilbo was still first and foremost in Thorin’s mind and heart.

That didn’t mean that Thorin didn’t still want children. As much as he wanted Bilbo more, he still wanted children. And it left Bilbo aching, just a little, that he could never give Thorin that.

Slowly he crept into the den, a smile still playing on his lips. Frodo twitched a little in his sleep, as babes were wont to do, and Thorin’s hold tightened out of reflex. His hair was sliding from the tie he’d used to pull it back with, and every breath he let out puffed up silver and dark strands alike. Bilbo managed to swallow back a chuckle and instead reached for Frodo. Thorin was going to get a crick in his neck if he slept any longer in that chair. Bilbo knew: he’d done it a time or thirty.

As soon as he gently began tugging Frodo from Thorin’s grasp, his husband startled awake, arms instinctively wrapping Frodo in a protective embrace. “Just me,” Bilbo assured him, even as Thorin began to relax. “He’s got a hand out of your hair: I thought I’d take the opportunity while it existed.”

Thorin rumbled a deep, sleep-tinged chuckle that _did_ things, damn him. “Agreed. My arm, perhaps, could also use a break.” He winced as he flexed his arm, and Bilbo cringed in sympathy. A slumbering limb was one of the worst feelings in the world, as far as he was concerned.

“Here,” Primula said, suddenly right there, and she took the still sleeping Frodo from Bilbo. That gave him two arms to pull his husband out of the chair, Thorin flinching as he stood and stretched. Bilbo took a quick glance towards the door and, after seeing Prim, Drogo, and Elodie moving to the kitchen, caught Thorin by the front of his tunic. Thorin almost stumbled until his lips hit Bilbo’s, and then he was cupping Bilbo’s face, thumbs brushing gently over his ears as the kiss deepened.

Bilbo rested his forehead against Thorin’s when they’d parted. “How was Sparrowlings?”

“Full of sparrows, as it usually is. Also full of clouds. Elodie wants a puppy.”

Thorink blinked at the sudden non-sequiters he was thrown. “A puppy?” he finally managed.

“Apparently a new baby brother isn’t enough.”

“He’s quite enough for _me_ ,” Thorin said, shaking his head. “I could not imagine a hound on top of that.” He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and made for the kitchen, where the aroma of fresh soup was coming from. It smelled like potato soup, Bilbo’s favorite.

Thorin paused in the doorway when he realized Bilbo wasn’t beside him, but rather right where he’d left him in the middle of the den. “Beloved?” he asked, frowning, and somehow, that one word was all Bilbo needed. He took a deep breath and shrugged off his insecurities that didn’t belong here in this place of peace. Not when he had a husband in front of him who, even now, was moving back to take Bilbo’s hands in his.

“Tell me,” Thorin said. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

“It’s truly nothing,” Bilbo said, and he meant it. “Just thinking, that’s all. It’s been a good month.”

Thorin still kept gazing at him, trying to gauge his sincerity, but finally nodded. “It has. And it will continue to be a good year.”

“I thought we were going back in the spring?”

“Or the spring after that. We’ll go back whenever. Fili and Dis have my complete faith. My only concern is here, with you.”

It left Bilbo’s heart pounding a little harder, his face a little more flushed. “And Elodie,” he said, causing Thorin to frown. “She wants me to speak to Primula about the puppy.”

“You’re completely on your own,” Thorin said immediately, then laughed when Bilbo scowled at him and pinched him on the arm. Served him right, the brute, leaving Bilbo all alone to tackle the puppy problem.

He still smiled as he walked with Thorin to the dining room, where food was even now being laid out.

 

It wasn’t all sunny days and cloud gazing. There were nights, too.

Nights where Bilbo woke in a panic, gasping for air, clawing at Thorin to see the death wound from the arrow that Arius had released in his nightmare. Or when Caledon kept tightening the metal collar until he couldn’t breathe, dragging him farther and farther from Thorin. When he woke from those nightmares, it was to Thorin hovering over him, shaking him and telling him to _breathe_.

Or the dream where he knelt beside Donys in the hot, stinging grass, and Donys suddenly became Thorin, bleeding out in the heat, eyes empty forever.

Those were the worst ones. Those were the nights where he clung to Thorin for the rest of the night, shaking and shivering and desperate to be held. Those nights Thorin held back just as hard, and neither of them slept.

But those nightmares were few and far between now. Most nights were spent in deep slumber, both wrapped around the other. Sometimes Bilbo jolted awake, but the nightmares were hazier now, less tactile and more of a distant memory.

And every time Bilbo woke, Thorin was there.

 

The third time Primula attempted to wash and rinse the same plate, Thorin gently stepped in and took it from her. It seemed Bilbo wasn’t the only hobbit who wasn’t getting enough sleep, though his husband’s lack of sleep had nothing to do with a young babe. “I’ll wash,” Thorin said.

“I can’t ask you to do that-“

“Which is why you do not have to ask,” Thorin interrupted her protests. “Go to bed, Primula.”

Primula hesitated, only for a moment, then handed the plate over. “I’ll go put the little ones to bed, then,” she said. She patted him on the arm with a smile. “Thank you.”

The kitchen was quiet after that, Drogo and Bilbo having left earlier to settle in the den with a cup of tea. They’d cleaned up after the last meal: Primula and Thorin had taken care of supper. Trading off, back and forth, with Elodie helping where she could. It was an easy rhythm they’d fallen into, one Thorin enjoyed.

When the last dish was finished and put away, Thorin dried his hands and headed to the den. But there was no one within, only two small tea cups resting on saucers. With a frown Thorin headed for the hallway, as he hadn’t heard the front door. Quietly he stepped down the hall – still not as quiet as a hobbit could be – searching for anyone. A soft murmur came from the children’s room, and Thorin ducked his head inside.

It wasn’t Primula, or Drogo, that he found. Elodie was tucked in her bed, fast asleep, and in the middle of the room was Bilbo, Frodo in his arms. Bilbo was swaying back and forth, his feet doing a silent dance as he rocked Frodo to sleep. He was humming something under his breath, something gentle that sounded like a Shire-born song. His eyes were only for the babe in his arms, and Thorin let himself settle against the doorway to watch.

Several months since the kidnapping, and the color was back in Bilbo’s face as if it had never left. The wound on his head had not even left a scar, and the burn on his arm was a mere memory, only a lightly raised scar left to tell the tale. His ankle still had days where it wobbled, but that was normal, and Thorin had long ceased worrying about it. There was nothing he could do for it, anyway, except massage it when it started causing Bilbo too much pain.

But here, in the Shire, in this little room of Bag-End, Bilbo was smiling and cradling Frodo so gently in his arms, and it left Thorin with a want that burned in the bottom of his stomach. Bilbo’s hands were so careful as they held the babe, his arms tucked just so to hold and caress. When he brushed one of Frodo’s errant curls from his face, it was all Thorin could do to keep himself in the doorway. He wanted this moment forever in his mind. He wanted to never let it go.

Bilbo finally raised his gaze and found Thorin standing there. He gave a quick smile and turned back to Frodo, who seemed to be fast asleep. Carefully he laid Frodo down in his crib, tucking him in so he would be comfortable and safe. It was clear from his movements that this was not the first babe he’d held or handled before. He’d been much the same with Holdred, and it still left Thorin aching. Wanting.

He thought about moving into the room, but Bilbo was already heading towards him, feet silent on the wooden floor. With one last look Bilbo stepped out and closed the door behind them.

“Did Primula come this way?” Thorin asked.

“She did. And then I sent her straight to bed. She’s not had a good night’s sleep in far too long.”

“Being a parent will do that to you.” Drogo had circles beneath his eyes, too.

Bilbo hummed and stayed right where he was. “You need sleep, beloved,” Thorin began, but Bilbo spoke, making his pause.

“I know you and I have this long-standing sort of agreement, which is more like you not letting me apologize, but-“

“This had better not _be_ an apology-“

“I wish I could give you what you want,” Bilbo said quietly, and though there was no condemnation in his voice, nor hurt, it left Thorin aching all the same.

He grasped Bilbo’s shoulders and drew him closer. “Know this,” he said, his voice barely more than a rumble. “I have everything I want right here, in my arms. You are what I want, what I need.”

“Children-“

“That is where I’m selfish,” Thorin admitted, before he huffed a small laugh. “Because I would not want a child unless they were cradled in your arms. I can do without a child. I _cannot_ do without you.”

Bilbo finally began to smile, and Thorin dipped his head to capture it with his lips. He tasted like raspberry tea and a hint of something sweet and something Thorin had only ever known as _Bilbo_.

They stood there, trading kisses back and forth, until Thorin was reminded of the time when his husband began to lean into his embrace more. “Bed,” Thorin ordered softly. “Primula and Drogo aren’t the only hobbits who need sleep.” Though mostly undisturbed, Bilbo’s nights were still too often broken by cold sweats and suddenly jerking awake. He needed all the rest he could get.

“So does a certain dwarven king I know,” Bilbo countered, and with a quick bow Thorin lead the way, much to his husband’s amusement, if his chuckles were anything to go by.

 

Days passed.

Winter came, and it was mild, more mild than any other winter Thorin had ever known. But the Shire had no mountains, only hills away from the towns, and so there was never a deep snow. Only enough for some snowballs and tiny little hobbits made of snow by the children. It was usually gone by the next day, and the children were forced to wait until the next snowfall for more fun.

Letters came from Erebor from Dis, Fili, and Kili, speaking on behalf of those in the mountain of how much they were missed, of what was happening. Thorin, Bilbo, and Bofur sent back in turn letters of the Shire’s going ons, the Rangers that came into Hobbiton from time to time to see that the hobbits were well. Peace reigned.

Winter began to fade away, and soon the first buds began to emerge from the ground. There was a two week period of rain every day, torrential downpours that kept them all confined inside. When it finally ceased, the fields were swollen with water, and farming began in earnest. Gardening also began, and between Hamfast and Elodie, Thorin was soon taught the basics of gardening in the Shire. The Gamgee children were happy to help, though Hamfast’s youngest, Samwise, stayed indoors, playing with Merry when he came to visit. Most of the time, he latched on to Frodo and helped as best as a two year old child could.

The warmer days led to sitting outside Bag-End, blowing smoke rings into the night. Drogo and Thorin held contests, neither truly caring, and it didn’t matter anyway when Bilbo came out and blew perfect smoke rings, three in a row. Thorin and Drogo usually settled back to simply smoke after that and typically ignored Bilbo’s smug looks.

And when the spring festival came, Bilbo hauled Thorin onto the floor and insisted on dancing with him, much to Thorin’s chagrin. He proved himself an ample dancer, however, and the cheers from the hobbits were enough to keep him going until he was breathless and dizzy and falling over, all but taking Bilbo with him. They stumbled back to Bag-End together, laughing and trading kisses until they found their bed in the empty smial.

Drogo and Primula wisely stayed out a bit later with the children.

 

The birds chirped a morning chorus, slowly bringing Bilbo back to consciousness. Memories of the night before at the spring festival came back with awareness, and he began to smile until his toes curled. He turned over in the cool sheets and found the bed otherwise empty.

Then he heard a loud cawing, and when he turned, a raven was resting in the window. It bowed to him, and Bilbo gave it as regal a head bow back as he could, given that he was barely awake and his hair was a mess.

Well. That explained the empty bed, then.

He didn’t even bother finding his clothing for the day, simply found a dressing gown and headed out to find Thorin. Primula was only starting to put a kettle on, and she nodded towards the den when she spotted Bilbo.

Seated in the comfy chair, looking anything except for comfortable, was Thorin. His gaze was on the empty hearth, and his eyes were dark and stormy. He didn’t even look up when Bilbo approached, but he did relax a little when Bilbo rested a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” Bilbo asked quietly. If Erebor had sent a raven, there was a reason, one that demanded an instant response.

In answer, Thorin handed over the scroll. Bilbo carefully unwound it and gave it a cursory read. It was a short message, a very official note from Dis.

Bilbo carefully rolled the scroll up and tucked it into one of the gown’s pockets. Neither spoke for a long moment, and when Thorin began to tense up again, Bilbo began massaging his shoulder. Unfortunately, Thorin wasn’t going to relax again for quite some time.

When Thorin spoke, it was with a barely veiled anger and a great deal of resignation. “When we came here, I had wanted to give you a year.”

“I know,” Bilbo said softly. “I know, Thorin.”

“You have not even been here but half a year-“

“It’s all right,” Bilbo promised him, and when Thorin turned, fury and despair both in his gaze, Bilbo cradled his face and gently stroked his thumbs over his beard. “It was more than I could have ever asked for. I never would have expected we’d have been given six months of peace, and yet we did. I married a king, Thorin. I know what your duty entails.”

“My duty, when I see my cousin, will be to ensure he regrets coming to Erebor,” Thorin growled.

Bilbo agreed, but he’d never voice it. Dis’s short and clipped note said that Dain would be visiting Erebor for “the improvement of relations and politics between our differing kingdoms,” as she’d quoted, and he’d be there by the summer months. It was spring now, and in just a few short months, Erebor would be welcoming Dain and his delegates.

Which meant they had to leave immediately.

“I can be packed within a few short hours,” Bilbo said. “I packed in twenty minutes to leave and catch up with you, almost thirteen years ago.”

Thorin’s anger gave way to grief. “I wanted to give you time to _rest_. You deserved a year of peace, beloved.”

“And I told you that six months is a staggering amount of time to be left alone, when you’re a king, or married to a king.” Bilbo pressed a kiss to the tip of Thorin’s nose. “Honestly, one day here would’ve been enough for me.” Not really. But the long, sleepy days here in the Shire had helped heal something deep in his soul. Erebor was home, would always have part of his soul as home, but the Shire was home, too.

Thorin finally sighed and tugged Bilbo forward until he was all but sitting on Thorin’s lap. “We’ll have to make haste,” he said. “Arriving just as Dain does will do us ill.”

“Agreed. I’ll pen a note back to Dis, letting her know we’re on our way. Perhaps Legolas and Kili can meet us outside of the Greenwood, escort us back through some of the northern, quicker paths?”

Thorin began to smile, confusing Bilbo. “Mahal help Dain if he tries anything foolish,” he said. “He’s never met you, and he’ll learn the hard way not to cross you. My stubborn hobbit.”

“Insufferable dwarf,” Bilbo retorted, but he grinned as he said it. “Come on. You’ve packing to do, too. I’ll write up a note before breakfast.”

The raven was sent back to Erebor before they’d sat down for their last meal in Bag-End.

 

Their farewells were cheerful but still filled with tears. Bilbo realized quite suddenly how much he was going to miss Bofur and Esmeralda, leaving them behind in the Shire. "When you come back and visit, I'll tell you what I've named the smial," Bofur said. "And we’re only two months away. If you catch an eagle, that is. Or run really fast.”

“Off with you,” Esmeralda said, and they were gone.

They made it to Rivendell in good time, and Elrond as always was pleased to host them. He inquired about their sudden returning to Erebor, and seemed disturbed that Dain was so determined to meet with Thorin. “May you be blessed with an outcome of peace,” he told them, then requested an update to the outcome of whatever happened. Thorin swore he would send word as soon as anything had been decided.

The mountains were warm, warmer still when they took the path through Moria. Bilbo hated to do it, as did Thorin, but they were moved swiftly through with reverence and awe. Then they were on the other side, and Bilbo wished they had time to visit Lothlorien, to visit Haldir and the Lady Galadriel, but they had no time with which to do so. So they moved on to the Greenwood, where they were indeed met by Legolas, Kili, Tauriel, Gimli, and Dwalin. Greetings were shared, and if Dwalin and Bilbo held on tightly to one another for a little longer, no one said anything. Not when they were standing in the very forest where the two had had nothing but one another to cling to.

Their journey back through the Greenwood to Erebor was swift and filled with cheer, Dwalin making terrible jokes and cutting into Kili’s news of all that was going on in the mountain. They were in good spirits as they passed through Dale and briefly greeted Bard, who welcomed them home. Then it was on to Erebor, where Dis and Fili were waiting, along with the rest of their company and kin.

The feast was large as the King Under the Mountain and his Royal Husband returned, and it went well into the night. It was a glorious evening, and Bilbo spent it by Thorin’s side, both of them smiling until their cheeks hurt.

 

The nightmare returned that night.

Bilbo choked on the collar around his neck as Caledon pulled and pulled. It was hot and burning his fingers, and he was being pulled further and further away from Thorin, who was frozen where he stood, unable to do anything more than reach for him. “No, please,” Bilbo begged, and he would die if he was returned to Caledon.

Images came to mind. Thorin with Frodo’s hand in his beard. Elodie dancing at the spring festival. Thorin scowling at him when he blew a better smoke ring than he did. Laughing with Kili and the others when they were reunited.

It seemed as if the entire world paused, and the field faded to a grey foggy nothing. Bilbo slowly caught the collar from around his neck and pulled, and he wasn’t surprised when it came free entirely. He dropped it to the ground, and the chain fell behind him, lax and without a hand to hold it. He stepped forward, one step, two steps, and then he was at Thorin’s side. His husband smiled at him, and Bilbo smiled in return.

Then he turned to the three figures, shadowy and distant, who were only recognizable by their faces. Caledon’s face was forever twisted in anger, while Arius’s face was smooth and empty, only waiting for a target, though his hands held no bow or arrow. Standing further off was Donys, watching him, forever a lost innocent.

Bilbo gazed at them for a long moment. “You’re only a memory now,” he said quietly. “Shoo.” Then he took a deep breath and let it out, and they were blown away like smoke in the breeze.

When he opened his eyes, Thorin was asleep beside him, arm still curled protectively around Bilbo. Bilbo watched him for a moment, then slid in closer until he was right against his husband. Thorin stirred. “All right?” he murmured.

“Yes, I am,” Bilbo whispered. Thorin pressed a barely there kiss to the top of his head. “I’m all right.” And he meant it.

He closed his eyes and slid back into a dream: of himself lying in the Sparrowlings, Elodie and toddler Frodo playing with a brown puppy while Thorin watched and laughed.

_Finis_


End file.
